


For you to live, Alternate ending

by Aliea



Series: for you to live [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, charcter death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 10:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5624260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aliea/pseuds/Aliea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate Ending for You to Live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For you to live, Alternate ending

**Author's Note:**

> This my dears is not nice

John is dead.

He is pronounced dead on arrival at the Royal London Hospital, at 10:31pm.

John Hamish Watson, forty-four years of age died in the arms of the man who for all intents and purposes might as well have shot him two years prior. He died saving the man he hated to love, because in the end how could he not save Sherlock? Sherlock had been and would always have been his life.

.~.~.~.

 The hospital was...well it was white, quite, smelt of antiseptic and Sherlock dressed in his best suit, still wearing his coat, both of which were now covered in blood was like a dark stain upon the walls.

They had left him standing outside of the ER as they had pushed John through the doors trying, in vain, to bring him back. But Sherlock knew, he had watched as the life had left John’s body, felt it as he took his last breath, and felt it in his very core as the one person he had ever loved died.

The room had fallen silent five minutes ago and still no one has exited.

"Sherlock..."

"They called it at 10:31, why has no one come out yet?"

Mycroft came to stand next to his brother, but Sherlock refused to look away from the door.

"Sherlock...let me take you home."

"Home." Sherlock repeated, that simple word slowly pushing through his walls like a blade of molten lava, destroying the one thing that was keeping him standing. "Oh..."

The numbness that had settled around him since they had pulled John from his arms slowly left him and with its departure came a wave of crushing pain that made everything that had come before feel like nothing more than pinpricks.

Grasping at his chest he felt as though his clothes where restricting him and pulled at them as he finally turned from the door to look at his brother.

Mycroft looked ill, he was pale with dark circles under his eyes. The hand upon his umbrella shook slightly and his normally clear eyes where clouded with so much emotion that it sent Sherlock over the edge of whatever cliff he was stood upon.

"Myc..." he got out just before the world around him shifted and he collapsed to the ground, his legs no longer able to hold him. He expected tears then, but as his brother knelt with him, taking hold of his shoulders a cry echoed around them. It was animalistic in nature, a sound of pure unrefined grief, and it went on and on until Sherlock’s body forced him to take in air and that, was when the tears started.

"Oh god....what have I done?" Mycroft said as he pulled his brother to him as another cry escaped Sherlock’s throat.

Sherlock buried his face against Mycroft’s suit, clawing at the expensive marital, not at all caring that he was getting it cover in tears and blood.

Somehow a part of Sherlock’s brain forced him to his feet and then he was running, the sound of his brother shouting his name following after him.

Two hours later found Sherlock stood at the entrance to 221B but he didn’t enter, he stared at the black door for a while before heading towards the park.

It was easy for him to get what he needed, in a matter of minutes after walking into the park he had his 7% solution, a (somehow) unused hypodermic needle and was currently sat by the small lake his coat discarded along with his jacket and his, still blood covered, shirt sleeve rolled up. Using his belt from his coat as a tourniquet he quickly found a vain and with no hesitation at all he injected himself.

Closing his eyes as he pulled the needle free he let it drop to the side as he undid the tie around his arm and let the drug run freely around his system.

"Why always the drugs Sherlock?" John asked as he sat next to him.

Sherlock smiled and slowly led back upon the grass.

"Anything to make the pain stop John."

"Right, so I save you from a rain of bullets, I tell you I would do anything for you to live, and here you are, killing yourself. Bit not good Sherlock."

Sherlock allowed his eyes to open and he took in John as he looked up at the dark sky above them.

"John..."

"Yes Sherlock?"

"Did you mean it?"

John turned to look down at him and for a moment Sherlock forgot how to breathe. How could he do this? Go on without him? Live knowing that John Watson's heart no long beat, that those blue eyes would never see again, never light up with a smile or look at him as they looked now with confusion and so much more.

"Mean what?"

"You said, before you...before you..."

"Died." John said with a sad smile.

"Yeah, that...you said you love me."

"Of course I meant it you big git!" John nudged Sherlock’s arm playfully and shook his head as he laughed.

"Even after everything?"

"Well yeah...but then I am just a figment of your drug induced state right now, so I will pretty much say anything you want me to say."

"You will only ever say what John would have said."

"True, I am a pretty good copy of him." John shifted then to lean on his side next to Sherlock, his head resting on his hand. In this new position John was a lot closer and his eyes searched Sherlock’s for a moment before he gently ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. "You can have this once Sherlock, this night, this moment to be selfish. You can take it and do whatever you want with it. But come morning, you are to stop. Grieve, because you must, but not like this. Don’t destroy yourself, because if you do you will be throwing away everything i sacrifice myself for."

Tears had started to stream down Sherlock’s face and he found himself curling up and into John’s warmth.

"I can’t, I can't do this without you."

"You did it for two years, you can do it for the rest of your natural life."

Grabbing the oatmeal jumper John always appeared in when he thought of him, Sherlock buried his face in the soft wool and just breathed in everything that was John.

"Will you live for me Sherlock?"

The question ripped at him, it tore right through him, splitting him in half. Half was selfish, it wanted to end it, to join John, to be with him always. The other side was more logical. It took on what John had said and agreed with him totally. He needed to live, to go on without him and to not waste his death.

"Please John, don’t make me."

John giggled and pushed his nose into Sherlock’s curls.

"I could never make you do anything you didn't want to Sherlock, I won't even try to right now. You need to make up your own mind, to choose what it is you want to do.  Die or live."

"I...I can't John, I can't live with this pain. Please just let me end it."

Lips brushed against his temple and he shivered into John, holding onto him more tightly.

"It's your choice Sherlock."

"Stay, stay with me here. I just want to sleep."

A weight covered him then and Sherlock simply borrowed more deeply into it as it gave warmth to his body that had started to shake.

"I'm always going to be here Sherlock." John whispered, his lips once again brushing his forehead. "You will always have a part on me locked away in that amazing brain of yours and you can come see me whenever you want."

Sherlock nodded then rather quickly, slipped into a drug induced sleep.

Mycroft found Sherlock in record breaking time. It wasn’t at all hard and he knew his brother, on some level, had not hidden himself well on purpose.

Now as he watched the younger Holmes being lifted onto a stretcher he couldn't help but feel responsible for everything that had happened.

Sighing he was about to follow after his brother when he saw the small piece of paper upon the grass. Crouching down he picked it up and upon unfolding it he smiled.

A list.

"Thank you brother mine." Mycroft muttered as he stood and followed the one person he would ever admit to loving.


End file.
